


Frances

by SaintOlga



Series: fuck heteronormativity (and let's fuck Alex while we're at it) [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Issues, Gen, Gender Ambiguity, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Multi, Poly Family, Poly with Children, Polyamory, Slice of Life, non-binary Lafayette, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7626550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintOlga/pseuds/SaintOlga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last time he meets Frances before the day everything changes - the Doomsday, as he will call it eventually, to Alex’s annoyance - is during spring break in his second year. She’s a toddler, given to the care of the babysitters, never introduced to the rest of the family. Most of them never see her in the big house. Those who do probably think she's the housekeeper's baby.<br/>John is not allowed to spend time with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frances

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted without proofreading. I'm updating it now, after it was proofread by wonderful [sablessx](https://sablessx.tumblr.com/) whose services I won in a bid for [Fandom Loves Puerto Rico](https://fandomlovespuertorico.dreamwidth.org/).
> 
> In the same fandom auction, I also won a commission from amazing [showerdownbonanza](https://showerdownbonanza.tumblr.com/) who produced a lovely illustration for this story! Please [go see it](https://showerdownbonanza.tumblr.com/post/167897426917/frances-and-john-laurens-from-this-lovely-modern) at her blog, and also embedded here.

 

The first time John meets Frances, she’s just a few months old. He can only look at her through the glass door of her nursery, hidden in the corner of the Laurens mansion, while her nurse rocks her to sleep.

He didn’t even know that Martha was pregnant when he left for college.

She wanted an abortion. He was going to come over, to take her across the state lines and pay for it. Until her parents read through her phone and called his dad, and then... “It’s all decided, John. Nothing for you to do unless you’re going to marry the girl,” and he was going to, but Martha refused. After that, he only received a message when the child was born, and another when Martha left the country, whisked away by her parents to Oxbridge on the tuition paid by his father in exchange for signing off custody rights. To Henry, not to John.

John spends months trying to forget it all, even while “it” is still going on, distracting himself with classes, and with his new friends, and with Alex (his bright ideas, his bright voice, not his bright eyes, never that). But even though he learns to forget that he has a baby, he feels guilty.

He comes home for the summer and there she is, hidden from the world; from him.

He sneaks in at night and holds her tiny hand, too scared to break her if he takes her in his arms.

  

* * *

 

 

The last time he meets Frances before the day everything changes—the Doomsday, as he will call it eventually, to Alex’s annoyance—is during spring break in his second year. She’s a toddler, given to the care of the babysitters and never introduced to the rest of the family. Most of them never see her in the big house. Those who do probably think she's the housekeeper's baby.

John is not allowed to spend time with her. He can only steal a few kisses to the unruly dark curls; snap a picture once. Drown in the whirlwind of family celebration, with its rules and politics and diplomacy. He smiles and nods and politely shares the acceptable facts about what he’s doing in Columbia (talk pre-law, not biology or social justice), how is life in the Big Apple (talk baseball games and theatre so expensive it becomes acceptable to enjoy, not dance clubs and musicals), whether he has a girlfriend (say you don't have time, accept numbers and contacts of friends and relatives with daughters your age; don't even think about Alex whom you kissed on the night before you left, who kissed you back, and kissed and kissed and kissed until it was dawn and your taxi was waiting).

The picture he takes that spring is the only one he has for years—in his army bunk; in the apartment he shares with Alex in the family unit at the base. It’s in his wallet, next to the picture that set off Doomsday. The one where they’re kissing on the steps of the New York City Hall, newlyweds who didn’t even bother with suits, wearing t-shirts, with messy hair full of rainbow glitter from the night before. Alex says he’s a masochist, to carry this one around. He doesn’t understand what it means to John. John doesn’t want to explain, not in words. Not that he knows how to explain the feeling of freedom that only comes when you fall. The picture Alex prefers, and carries himself, is from the same day but taken a few hours later, after they’d consummated their marriage and dragged themselves from the bedroom to grab something to eat. Adrienne had snapped a picture of them, giddy with happiness, on her phone. There’s a picture of Frances, too, hidden behind it—Alex asked John’s permission to have it, after he got over the fact that his husband had a daughter he never told him about.

 

* * *

 

 

The next meeting comes many years later, when Angelica “The Ballbuster” Schuyler, the angel of vengeance for everyone screwed by patriarchy—already a partner in her law firm, already with a bestseller book about the loopholes of the family law—wins him visitation rights. Frances is eight.

Alex wants to go with him, but John only has to imagine Alexander Hamilton in South Carolina, in his father’s home, with his father present, and firmly prohibits him to even think about it. Eliza goes in his stead, not for the visit itself, but to wait in the hotel, ready to hug and to cry and to talk. Angelica comes with him to the mansion—his companion; his guardian; ready to fight for him. Ready to pull his leash if he goes for his father’s throat.

Frances is eight and small for her age—small for this house, which feels even emptier now that John’s siblings have grown up and left one by one, hurrying away from the cold seeping through the walls of the colonial mansion despite the heat outside. Her skin is darker than John’s; freckles smaller. Her curls, he finds with disgust, are straightened and tamed under a headband. She is very quiet in the center of the room, crowded by the adults—John and Angelica on one side, Henry and his lawyer on the other, and the court-appointed CPS supervisor between them unable to dissolve the tension.

Henry is trying to burn holes into John with his gaze. John looks away, not because he’s scared, but because he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he sits down on the floor in front of Frances, on carpet softer than his and Alex’s first bed. Her eyes grow a fraction wider. In this house, you don’t sit on the carpet in the living room; you don’t wrinkle your clothes; you  _behave_.

John smiles at her.

“Hi, Frances. I’m John. I’m your dad,” he says, with the slight hitch on the word ‘dad’. “I heard you like Ninja Turtles.” Angelica bribed one of the babysitters to learn all about Frances’ tastes. “I’ve got you one.”

It’s an action figure, talking and moving. Frances’ eyes shine bright with wonder, but she looks back at Henry, who’s scowling. Of course. Ninja Turtles are for boys.

“It’s okay,” John says with a softer smile. “I’ll leave it here for now, and you can play with it or not. Now. Tell me, how do you like school?”

After five minutes, Angelica manages to argue Henry and his lawyer into obeying the court’s decision saying that visitation should only be supervised by the CPS, not the ‘guardian’ Henry fashions himself to be (he can’t even accept Frances is his granddaughter). After ten minutes, Frances lowers herself to the floor, carefully spreading the pleats of her dress, and picks up the toy.

She likes Ninja Turtles because she likes turtles. She wants to play big tennis because uniforms are cute, both shorts and skirts. She takes her ice cream very seriously—when they discuss that maybe next time they could go to the park and have some ice cream, she says that only strawberry with gummy bears is any good.

She doesn’t volunteer questions, and her answers are careful and reserved. John’s heart aches. He knows what game she’s playing; he played it too. But he was a boy, and the firstborn son. Legitimate offspring, although from a woman chosen for all the wrong reasons. She’s… a mistake. A burden.

He wants to grab her and take away from this place.

A few years ago, he would have.

Instead, he tells her about New York. About the vet school (“Yes, we treat turtles, too!”). About Alex, and Eliza, and little Phillip. He picks up his tablet to show her the pictures.

Frances frowns in thought.

“Is Eliza your wife?” she asks, confused, looking at the picture of her hovering over Alex and John, who are trying to feed Philip the bottle. John presses his lips together. They knew she would ask questions; they planned the answers.

“No, she’s not. She’s Philip’s mommy. Alex here is my husband,” he says, pointing at the man.

Frances blinks several times, and then pushes the tablet away. Her lips tremble.

The CPS worker ushers John away before she starts to cry.

At the hotel, he crumbles into Eliza’s arms, eyes painfully dry.

“The social worker said that it isn’t about me,” he says hoarsely. “She talked to Frances. It seems that she’s confused about me being married to a man.”

Eliza sighs and hugs him closer. Her eyes are a bit shiny. At one point or another, they discussed the option of divorce and remarriage, for all of them, for the sake of legalities and parental rights. Even laughed about Alex and John divorcing each other and then marrying Eliza in turns, and then they would all will be living together with marriage and divorce certificates, on equal footing. But it wouldn’t be true to what they are.

John takes a shuddering breath.

“Am I hurting her, ‘Liz?” he asks quietly.

“No,” she replies firmly.

Angelica arrives later that night and sprawls in the chair, letting go of the tight stillness of a coiled spring she adopts for work.

“There will be another visit in five weeks,” she says. “Already scheduled; Henry can’t wiggle out.”

“What about Frances?” Eliza asks from her spot on the couch, John tucked close under her arm. Angelica twists her head to the side, looking like a bird of prey.

“The social worker talked to her more after you left,” she says, looking at John. “She was distraught because she doesn’t understand why Philip has a mom and two dads and she has none.”

John excuses himself to the bathroom to finally cry.

 

* * *

 

 

Frances comes to live with them about a year later. She knows Eliza by then, after the second visit when they went to the park. She met Alex for their first weekend-long visit, when all three of them and baby Philip stayed in the hotel and Frances was allowed to spend days with them. Alex could barely hide his excitement; tried to hog all her time until he was told off. She split her attention between him and Eliza, somewhat cool towards John. He tried not to be hurt by that.

They rent a house in the suburbs, as good as they can afford, which isn’t much. Angelica gets her parents to help, despite her sister’s protests. “For Frances,” she says firmly, and they shut up. Frances’ room is much smaller than the one in Henry’s house. The last visit before the move, Eliza and John go with her over every last detail of what she wants her room to look like. There are turtles. The real ones.

It’s not the happy ending, though. It’s the beginning.

 

* * *

 

 

During the first weeks with her new family, Frances is still somewhat distant from John, and adores Alex and Eliza. Then she hates Eliza because Eliza, the only one among them without strong parental issues, puts her foot down and stops the men from spoiling the girl rotten by indulging in her every whim. Then Frances fights a kid from school two years older who said that she can’t have two mommies and two daddies; calls her a freak. Then she stares straight at Eliza and says that she wants to find her real mommy. (Eliza cries later into Alex’s shoulder, with John hovering over them, helpless.) Two months later, another fight—Frances has a split lip that won't scab over because she keeps smiling ferociously in triumph. Eliza calls Angelica to make sure that Henry Laurens can’t use this to win her back. John volunteers to teach her self-defense, if only because otherwise it would be Alex, and his school of fighting is known as “scrawny Latino smartass in foster care: leave no survivors.” Alex prepares to sue the school instead unless they introduce better anti-bullying policies.

In a few months, they hold a commitment ceremony for Alex and John with Eliza, just close friends and family, and Frances is the flower girl, so happy for them.

Next year is no less complicated, with Eliza pregnant, and Alex drowning in the presidential campaign, and John frustrated by the feeling that he’s doing less than his partners because he can’t go to rallies when he has a toddler and a pre-teen at home, and Martha Manning coming from Europe to visit. But they survive.

At around twelve Frances decides that she’s a boy, and they have to fight the school’s policies again while Lafayette picks the best haircut for ‘the little François’. Next year they have to fight for better education on gender fluidity and non-binary genders because Frances realizes she’s very much a girl, most of the time, and there’s backlash for her “playing trans.” Lafayette almost comes out at that point, willing to jump into the fray. But he’s vital to Washington’s administration and they hope to be able to make it into the second term, and Republicans still can’t wrap their mind around the singular they.

Another year, Frances is in love, and they only notice after she has her heart broken because Alex is busy pushing the budget, and Eliza is nursing Jamie, and John has just started his term in the Senate and is clashing with Henry Laurens every day. It’s Angelica who calls them and bites their collective heads off because Frances is crying on her couch.

“Are we terrible parents?” Alex asks after she brings Frances home; after they talk and apologize and comfort and put her to bed. The adults gather in the kitchen, each taking a drink for frayed nerves. Angelica, who has seen bad parents and worse parents, looks over the three of them and shrugs. “You’re doing fine.”

The next time Frances is in love, she comes to John to talk.

 

* * *

 

 

She comes to John to talk a couple of years later, serious and thoughtful.

“Dad,” she says, sitting next to him on the couch. “Last night, when Mr. Washington brought Pa home, they kissed in the car.”

John is going to kill them both for forgetting about discretion, but for now he just nods. “They do, sometimes.” No point denying what exists.

“Is it something like you and Pa and Mom have?” Frances doesn’t seem angry or disappointed. They explained things often enough to the kids, even though it’s still too fucking complicated to even contemplate sometimes.

“Somewhat, yes,” John says. “But different. You can ask Alex.” Let him wiggle on this hot pan.

Frances nods in absentminded agreement, but then looks straight at him.

“Are you okay with it, Dad?”

He knows the right answer, but he still pauses, checking. He was okay with it theoretically, until he wasn’t, and then was again. He was okay with it in the beginning, and then he wasn’t, and then he was again. Now, is he okay with his children knowing about it?

“I am,” he says firmly.

They—him and Eliza and Alex—will need to discuss how to bring that up to the other kids, probably before they start asking questions. Do they have to include George in this conversation? Burr, for possible leaks and damage control? The logistics are crazy.

John wraps a hand around his daughter’s shoulders; kisses her forehead.

“Are  _you_  okay with it?” he asks quietly. She looks calm, but then, she usually looks calm until she blows up into a fighting frenzy. It’s either Henry Laurens’ upbringing, or family genes, or the influence of Eliza and Alex in turns. Who knows? (Alex and Eliza would say that it is all John Laurens.)

She’s thinking; biting her lip. In the end, she shrugs.

“I don’t know. It’s weird. Also, Mr. Washington is old. And the president. And Pa’s boss. Isn’t it wrong?”

John shakes his head.

“I think Pa will explain this better than I can. But I can be there, too. Let’s talk when you’re ready.”

When she goes to her room, he takes out his phone and texts Alex, “You’re in trouble,” and then, “Get ready to explain to your daughter why in your case sex with your boss doesn’t count as sexual harassment. In terms acceptable for a teenage girl whose best auntie is Angelica Schuyler.”


End file.
